


It's Good to Talk

by ElizaStyx



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cereal Hotline, Crack, Cute, First Meetings, Fluff, Humor, Late Night Conversations, M/M, POV Alternating, Phone Calls & Telephones, brief mention of developing panic attack, forgive me for the amount of wheat and cereal jokes, this is what happens when I write instead of sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8220001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaStyx/pseuds/ElizaStyx
Summary: Misha supposed he could have found a worse job than a night call duty in a cereal company. After all, they paid him for being there and screwing around on the internet. Oh, and recently also for talking to a man blessed with the sweetest laughter.Really, he could have imagined jobs way worse than that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Brought to you courtesy of Nestle (or at least the Polish branch of the company) and their slogan that translates literally into the title of this fic, encouraging to call their hotline. This is what happens, when I'm sleep deprived.
> 
> POV changes from Misha's to Jensen's in the middle but the transition is clearly marked as such. I could post those as two separate chapters here but I decided against it since the fic is pretty short and this division seems clear enough.

.one.

Misha supposed it was not bad a side job, manning the 24 hour hotline for a cereal company at night. It felt like he had found himself a nice little niche, where he basically earned money for existing and surfing the web slash working on his writing two blocks down from his home. He honestly had had worse jobs. Besides, even after two months of the routine it was still pretty amusing that someone assumed writing "It's good to talk" above the hotline number would actually make someone consider calling a cereal company late at night to discuss wheat, wheat by-products or, alternatively, the meaning of life.

Really, the only actual con was the pretty uninspiring office cubicle he was stuck in. Even covering it with a horrendous number of terrifying Minion stickers didn't help much. Queen Elizabeth II smiled at Misha from a small frame he set next to his computer screen. Sometimes he felt like she was rather mocking him these days instead of being supportive.

The night was warm, reminiscent of the already gone summer, the full moon shining through the big windows. It all just called for at least a sonnet. However, Misha could only stare at the blank document in front of him, the cursor flashing steadily. The words weren't coming. Elizabeth's smile still seemed borderline derisive.

Misha sighed and opened the browser, minimizing the document. YouTube suggested him a one hour long compilation of hilarious cat fails; this was probably meant to be. He clicked on the thumbnail and the video started loading at a torturously slow pace.

Then the phone rung.

At first, Misha didn't recognize the sound, it felt so alien in this space he associated with silence and isolation. However, the phone kept ringing so it couldn't have been just a hallucination. The cat video started playing on the screen but Misha could only stare at the offending, loud machine with something akin to terror. Was this actually real? Had he fallen asleep and was currently dreaming this? It was 2 am, who could possibly be calling a cereal hotline, of all hotlines, at this hour?

Sucking in a shaky breath, Misha reached for the reciever. He hesitated before gripping it tighter but eventually, he picked up.

"Generic brand cereal hotline, how can I help you?" he blurted out, a fake smile plastered onto his face in some primal 'hello customer' reflex,  
"Is it really good to talk?" asked a deep, manly voice in return and Misha felt a whole lot of things at once.  
"Well... I don't know. I guess it depends on what you want to talk about." he involuntarily lowered his voice to match the stranger's tone.  
"A guy dumped me." the voice slurred and oh, the man must have been drinking; this explained a lot. "I mean, he dumped me two months ago but I'm still sad. Having a drink with my box of cereal as company. It says it's good to talk so I'm talking. To cereal, that is."

Misha managed to hold back a chuckle. He didn't want the guy to find him impolite.

"I'm Misha. And last time I checked, I was not made out of wheat." he said. "Or well... Maybe that's a lie. Maybe I actually am made of wheat, if we really are what we eat." To be honest, he had never thought about it that way, wasn't he actually at least fifty percent wheat now? He got a lot of free cereal from this job.

"Huh." the man on the other end of the line sounded genuinely baffled too. "That would also make me mostly cereal. Intriguing..."  
"Isn't it?" Misha felt a smile stretching his features. "But, assuming you're still human for now, care to let me in on a secret? What's your name?"  
"Jensen." it came out surprisingly sheepish.  
"So, Jensen, what do you want to talk about? Cereal? Ex-boyfriends? The meaning of life? The meaning of becoming mostly cereal, perhaps?"

For a while the line went completely silent and Misha held his breath, waiting for Jensen to hang up on him. Then a warm, unexpected chuckle resounded right in his ear.

"Who are you?" asked Jensen, the laughter making his voice crack adorably.  
"A Misha. Or a wheat product named so. I'm not so sure anymore." Misha grinned to himself as the answer got him another chuckle. "I work the night shift in the cereal call center. It's really nice to meet you, Jensen."

***

Misha wasn't even that surprised when the phone rang the next night at exactly 2 am.

"I hope you are aware I start my shift earlier than that." he didn't even bother to say the expected formula.  
"Oh." Jensen sounded somewhat surprised. "You want me to call earlier?"  
"No, no, you can call me whenever you feel like." Misha laughed. "I just wanted you to know you don't have to wait 'til two."  
"Okay." Misha could almost hear Jensen nod. "But so that you know, it wouldn't bother me having to wait for you."

Misha smiled.

***

Jensen kept calling every night for the next two weeks. Always at 2 am. Misha found himself nervously counting down the minutes. He just really liked this guy, alright? He was fun to talk to. Besides, his voice was... simply great. Worthy of appreciation. Misha had to stop himself from imagining various things said voice could be telling him in the dark. It wasn't easy though. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could hear Jensen laughing at one of his particularly stupid jokes. There was something undeniably attractive in feeling funny for once. Misha was a sucker for praise, sue him. At least now he had something to look forward to in this mundane life of his.

 

.two.

Jensen would never have guessed that staying awake 'til 2am for a long call with a cereal hotline would become the highlight of his day. And yet, here he was, basically shaking with anticipation to hear the familiar, hoarse voice on the other end of the line, telling him all about stupid animal videos he had been stuck watching earlier that day.

Honestly, Misha could spend hours upon hours reading a phone book to him and Jensen wouldn't be bored. 

He observed impatiently as the big hand of the clock slowly moved towards the twelve. He had the phone ready in his palm and he quickly typed out the number he had learned by heart by now.

"Did you know that cows have four stomachs?" he begun as finally Misha picked up after an uncharacterestically long response time.  
"What?" an unfamiliar voice asked. "What the fuck?"

The line went silent. Jensen blinked in confusion. No, this was impossible. It must have been a joke of some sorts. He definitely called the right number, he knew.

He decided to try again.

"Misha?" he asked, barely hiding concern.  
"Dude, seriously, fuck off." said the same, definitely not Misha's voice.

The stranger hung up on him once again. For a while Jensen just sat there in shock. The clock on the wall ticked mockingly, the fridge in the kitchen buzzed somehow ominously. This was not happening. This couldn't be true. Misha couldn't be just...

...gone...

He was not!

He couldn't just leave Jensen like that, could he? Jensen took a shaky breath. Then another. The feeling of dread was growing stronger, the walls of his usually welcoming living room closing in on him.

'Breathe in, breathe out.' he told himself as the edges of his vision started going dark. 'No reason to panic yet, no reason...'

In all honesty, this was not helping. He was right about to start screaming, neighbours be damned, when his phone rung. Jensen forced his hand to stop shaking and he picked up.

"Sorry for being a bit late." said Misha cheerfully. "But I was busy getting fired."

Jensen let out a breath he was holding in for way too long.

"Apparently, our calls started counting as private after the third time. And private calls aren't usually appreciated by the cereal companies." Misha continued with equal mirth. "However, I managed to get two things out of this deal. A box of yet unreleased, limited edition citrus mix muesli. And, more importantly, your number. I'd call it pretty much a win-win. What do you think?"

Misha was definitely waiting for him to actually answer but Jensen needed a moment to process it all. Mainly to discover in the end that he was suddenly, irrationally, unbelievably happy.

"Well..." he finally said, barely containg laughter that bubbled in his chest. "I'll call it one but only if you promise me to try out that muesli with me."  
He held his breath, his turn to wait for a response. He counted five heart beats before Misha bursted out with laughter, loud and contagious.  
"Okay, you got it, Mr. half-wheat." his voice cracked a little. "So... what are your plans for this lovely morning?"


End file.
